


Wrestling Prompts

by ArcanaMajor



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Dirty Talk, First Time, Homophobia, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rough Sex, face fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:42:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcanaMajor/pseuds/ArcanaMajor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of wrestling fic written for prompts. (Challenge prompts and otherwise.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: This week the prompt was Netflix and Chill and drabbles had to be between 330-350 words.

Roman's been to posh houses before, but this one takes the cake. It's big and white, with marble everywhere and a lavishly decorated front room. At least, the bits he can spy through the window seem more expensive than the last car he bought. And that one had been nice.

So, as the door opens with a squeak, he's a bit surprised to see a man in a tattered robe, hair tied in a messy bun.

“Yes?” the man asks icily. 

Roman shoulders his bag higher. Did he have the wrong house again?

“I'm from Empire? Someone called about a computer emergency?”

The man's sharp eyes soften and relief flitters across his face. It's gone quickly, though, and instead his smile turns sour. Almost as uneven as his sprawl against the door.

“You're late.”

“We didn't agree on a time,” he counters.

“I expected you ages ago.”

Roman laughs. “And I expected to be working someplace other than my family's business. We can't have it all.”

“Whatever,” the man bites. “Now go and fix my computer.”

The stranger doesn't appreciate the salute Roman throws him, but leads him into the house nonetheless. When they pause in front of a slightly humming computer, he squints at the screen. Netflix is on, showing him ads as he refreshes to see what the problem is.

“Nothing seems to be wrong?” 

He's shouldered aside and tries not to notice as the flimsy bathrobe reveals rather impressive abs. He'll have to ask what exercises the brat does. Probably Crossfit. God, he hates Crossfit.

He watches as the man clicks one too many times on a video. It refuses to load. His customer turns demonstratively. 

“There, see?! Won't work!”

Roman peers at the screen again. “Have you paid for this month's subscription?”

It's eerily quiet beside him. He just catches the way the handsome man's face turns scarlet. He can't help but smirk.

“You know that 'netflix and chill' thing?” he asks. “I think you'll have to stick with the chilling.”

The retort is sarcastic. “You don't say.” 

Then, a small pause. “Wanna join me?”


	2. Roman Reigns/Dean Ambrose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This week the prompt was Truth or Dare and drabbles had to be between 215-235 words.

Roman has been gnawing his teeth and balling his fists for the last ten minutes and nothing he tells himself is helping. He's watching this charade of a game happen across the room, pretending to be on his phone but not managing, and it's gotten to the point where the dares have gotten lewd and the truths downright invasive.

Truth or dare. You'd think adult wrestlers would be above it. Yet here he is, watching his friends make a mockery of every question with suggestive winks and the occasional kiss. He shouldn't let it get to him, but Dean has received three lipglossed smooches so far and it's getting progressively worse.

Paige is next and her mouth curls into a smirk before she even gets started. Dean chooses the dare, as Roman knew he would.

“I dare you to kiss Tyler.”

Both men shrug, but Roman can't be as calm. He gets up and crosses the room in several big strides. Everyone looks up, but Roman ignores them and grabs Dean by the sleeve.

“Excuse us for a second.”

“Roman,” Dean tries as he's pulled into the next room. He seems amused. “Roman, truth or dare.”

He wants to pretend there's no jealousy involved. He wants to act like his annoyance is merely at the game. He wants so many things.

“Truth,” he whispers, then kisses Dean forcefully. Truth is the only option.


	3. Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for @churippu who asked for “ Okay maybe Dean/Seth? I just want general fluff, maybe they reconciling after a particularly nasty match between the two?”

There’s an itch at the back of his neck and he can’t quite reach it. Chances are, it’s some of the blood that’s trickled down from the cut above his eye, but he can’t be sure. 

 

Whatever it is, it’s making Seth feel even more annoyed than he already is. So annoyed he almost tears his shirt when he pulls it on. (He felt the fabric give way, okay, and it would have just made his glorious evening even worse. Because God knows, there’ll be fans outside taking pictures of him looking like a homeless person. And that’s the type of style Dean works, not Seth Rollins. So, yes, he’s annoyed.)

“Fuck,” he mutters, angrily throwing the rag he’d been holding at the walls. It lands nowhere near the garbage bin he’d been aiming for and is still distressingly white. Guess he hadn’t gotten any of the blood off.

He’s tempted to wipe at his forehead, but there’s now a staple keeping his flesh together and he’s been warned off of doing that. By now he knows all about stitches, staples, and how to deal with them. So he stills his itching fingers and proceeds to undress. Angrily. Because he’s angry. Damned Dean and his damned punches.

“I would apologize, but you look like you’d rather take my head off.”

Seth turns at the words, watching Dean lean in the door opening. At least he looks sweaty and dishevelled too. No blood, though. 

He scowls. “I’d rather you didn’t hit me in the face, but we can’t all get what we want in life.”

“Aw, babe,” Dean murmurs, closing the door behind him as he saunters into the room. Saunters, really. “I didn’t mean it. I got a bit too into it.”

Seth snorts and he can see it makes Dean smile. The whole thing had been stupid. A wayward punch glancing off his forehead had left him bleeding. Not like it was terrible, but if it made Dean feel contrite he’d take it.  
“You can have me make it up to you. How about that?”

There’s noise outside the door that just halts Seth’s snappy retort. He’d been thinking of something about positions and maybe a blowjob, but instead he wisely holds his tongue and just leers at the other man. He’s been in enough trouble lately when it comes to Dean and his lewd suggestions. Making x-rated comments when Taker walks in would just ruin things even more. And he can just imagine the long-suffering look he’d get, too.

“Don’t look at me like that, man,” Dean wispers, a lot closer than he was before. “Roman’s supposed to come and get me when he’s done and you know he’ll be pissed if he finds you with your pants down again.”

“My pants are down,Dean.” He throws said pants into his bag, fishing out some sweatpants instead. His skin feels sticky, as does the rest of him, but he just wants to get out of here. A nice shower and a nap would round off the night just right. Maybe some fervent apologies from Dean if he plays his cards right. He’s not above sexual favours to make up for ruining his face.

“You’re mean.” Dean sounds annoyed, but there’s a smile curling his lips, so it can’t be too bad. Seth can see his fingers reach for him out of the corner of his eye. They move slowely down his skin, right up to the point where he thinks the blood starts. He glances back and catches a flash of regret.

“It’s really not that bad. Just needed one staple. Don’t worry about it,” he grouses. His muscles ache more than the cut does, anyway. “At least this’ll heal. Your face is stuck that way forever.”

Dean chortles a laugh, then moves his fingers to a clump of hair and tugs gently. It causes Seth’s breath to catch, because he knows what that action is usually a prelude to. Dean pulls, then twists some strands around his fingers, and leans in even closer. 

“I’m glad. Couldn’t live without your pretty face, now could I?” 

There’s something genuine there that makes Seth pause. They look at each other and Dean’s expressions turns somber. Like he’s remembering something – things that happened in the past, or where they are, maybe, but he rarely shares what really bothers him – and he doesn’t like it. Like the casual, flirty thing they’ve got going isn’t going to last. It makes Seth frown too.

“You okay?” he asks. He’s half-naked and gripping some worn sweatpants, but Dean’s eyes look like they’re miles away. Years away, maybe. Somewhere he can’t quite reach.

“Yeah,” the other man eventually rasps. “I’m cool.” His fingers untangle and instead calmly rub at Seth’s skin, coming away red. 

“You’re a lot of things, but I’m not sure ‘cool’ is the word I’d choose.”

Dean is laughing again at that and his mood seems to have passed. He moves, washing his hands quickly while smiling at Seth in the mirror above the sink. He’s back to his carefree self again and this one is much easier to deal with. When Dean gets introspective, Seth never quite knows what to do. He’s never quite sure what Dean needs, or how to ask. Maybe that makes him a terrible boyfriend. Or whatever they are, he’s never dared to ask. They’re good, though, generally speaking. Even after a fight – and Roman’s had to referee one or two – they always make up.

“Fuck you.”

Seth’s skin itches again, but this time from something entirely different as he grins. “Yeah.”

Before Dean has a chance to turn it even more suggestive, heavy fists pound on the door.

“Dean, I’m done, let’s go!”

Roman, sounding like he knows exactly what’s going on in there and not ready to deal with it right now. His friend’s incredulous reactions always make Seth smile.

“I’m just-” Dean tries to shout, but he’s interrupted immediately.

“I don’t want to know what you two are doing! Just get out here so we can go. Seth’s face’ll survive the time it takes for us to get to the hotel.”

Dean mutters, but he listens and moves past Seth to the door. A quick brush of fingers against his hand is their customary goodbye, even though there’s no one there to see anything if there’d be more. It’s been drilled into them enough that whatever they’ve got going is supposed to stay theirs. Roman aside, it’s not something they’re sharing, so he nods back and forces a smile. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Dean promises, then swings open the door. Roman peeks in long enough to check out Seth’s face, then pulls back when he’s satisfied his friend is fine. Seth gives a wave and then the door closes.

“I look forward to it,” he mutters, ignoring the blood still causing his skin to itch.


	4. Tyler Breeze/Xavier Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Could you do one with Xavier and Tyler? Like where they’re playing games together and one thing leads to another….”

They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on a beat-down couch playing games and Tyler hasn’t felt this happy in months. It’s not that he doesn’t love his job, or his colleagues, or the many fans he gets to talk to and interact with, but it’s tiring. It’s emotionally draining and physically exhausting to be Tyler Breeze all the time. Perfection requires hard work and a whole lot of effort.

So it’s amazing to just sit here and relax with Xavier next to him, knees knocking occasionally when either of them gets a bit too into things.

They’re playing some weird space invader game Xavier found and Tyler’s just been mocking everything since they started. The graphics - the aliens look like blobs at best - the sounds, the little twitchy thing Xavier does when he loses a life. It’s hilarious and exhilarating and something he’s missed.

“To the left, asshole,” he says, trying to keep his character alive while Xavier is off doing god knows what at the other side of the screen. The final boss is hovering overhead and it blinking threateningly. At least, Tyler thinks he’s blinking. Could be a weird glitch. This game really is shit.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Xavier is grumbling and it means he’s having a tough time. Tyler knows all his tells by now and when his friend turns from excited and a camera whore into a quiet, disgruntled little kid you know he’s about to see ‘game over’ on his screen.

“Can’t keep up, eh?”

“ _Eh_ ,” Xavier mocks. “Just because you’re hiding away from the mobs of monsters I’m fighting doesn’t mean I can’t keep up.”

“I am literally underneath the boss, dodging fireballs. How about you join the big boys and come fight him.”

“I’ll show you big- Goddamnit!”

Tyler glances over, then snorts. Xavier just died. His character lies motionless on the pixelated ground, covered in small mobs that seem to be dancing on his grave. 

“Good job,” he says. Xavier takes a break from ranting at the screen to glare at him. Tyler just dodges a fireball aimed at his character’s head and grins. 

Moments later, when he’s still trying his hardest to beat the giant, flaming eyeball in the sky, he hears an enraged growl and feels fingers duck underneath his arm.

“Xavier, no!” he shrieks, twisting away from him but failing as he almost falls from the couch. He dodges two more attempts, then slips off the couch anyway. Somehow he’s managed to stay alive, but when Xavier completely blocks the screen and pounces on him, he hears the tell tale gong of defeat. As he’s covered by his friend’s bulk, he can just spy a corpse slumping to the ground on the screen. Well, damnit.

He wheezes as Xavier manages to plant a foot firmly in his side, then pulls his knees up so they’re either side of Tyler’s body. His hands have pinned Tyler’s wrists down even as the blond tries to struggle out of it. It’s no use and he watches helplessly from below as Xavier grins down at him in triumph.

“Did you say something about being underneath the boss, earlier? Guess that’s true.”

Tyler sighs, “You are such a child.”

“Am I?” Xavier bounces repeatedly just to be an ass. Tyler can’t help but lie there and glare at him. 

“A child who’s made ‘sore loser’ into an artform. Also, jesus christ stop doing that.”

Xavier is looking back with big eyes and a mischievous grin. All his worst attributes, really. That he gets away with that shit is more proof Tyler is stupid.

“Stop what?”

“The bouncing and grinding. _Please_ consider where you’re sitting.”

His friend looks down at their position as if he’s never even considered that he’s full on grinding his ass on Tyler’s crotch. He’s looking a bit too innocent, too, and it makes Tyler squirm. He always feels wrong when he so much as looks at Xavier with anything other than brotherly affection. They’re friends. _Best_ friends. The way Tyler wants to look at him doesn’t fit their relationship. He _knows_ that.

Doesn’t help the fact that his dick is perking up at the continued attention, though. Once Xavier notices this is going to turn awkward - or worse, mortifying - fast.

”You mean this?”

Xavier’s hips thrust deliberately this time, scraping rough denim over Tyler’s already sensitive crotch. He bites his lip, willing away the urge to move along with him. 

” _Xavier_ ,” he warns. His muscles twitch and he’s almost embarrassed by how turned on he’s getting just from being held down and, frankly, _ridden_ by his best friend. Xavier is still moving in slow little thrusts and it’s made Tyler close his eyes. He can’t look at him right now.

Something changes and Tyler can feel Xavier tilt his weight forward, leaning on his forearms. Their dicks are rubbing against each other now and Xavier’s not stopping. Tyler wants to scream.

”This turning you on?” Xavier asks and he’s so close Tyler can feel every exhale on his face. The question is silly, because he’s growing hard in his pants and he knows his face is turning pink. It’s obvious and Xavier shouldn’t be messing with him like this.

”Yes,” he bites out, futilely trying to dislodge Xavier from his position one last time. “Christ, Xavier, _yes_.”

His friend should have released him by now. His friend should have stopped torturing him. He’s wondered before whether Xavier knew that Tyler liked looking at him. That he liked putting a smile on the man’s face and sitting a bit too closely. Was this punishment? A reminder Xavier knows and will call him out on it? He didn’t think his best friend would be that cruel.

”Good.”

Tyler’s eyes snap open when he feels lips tentatively touch his. Xavier’s leaning down even further now, brow furrowed as if he’s solving a difficult math problem. His eyes are shut tight, as if he’s afraid to see, as he carefully kisses Tyler and holds on tight.

It doesn’t take long for Tyler to push back the feeling of awkwardness and tilt his head to allow Xavier better access. He deepens the kiss on instinct, biting softly at his lower lip and relishing in the way Xavier grows bolder when it’s obvious Tyler reciprocates. He’s hot and as the kiss lingers, so does the rhythm of his hips. Eventually, Tyler groans needily and tears his mouth away. His own hips punch up, unbalancing Xavier slightly, and they both pause. Eyes lock together and Tyler pants heavily.

“Is this weird?” Xavier asks, voice strangely small considering what they just did. 

“A little bit.” Tyler leans back in anyway with hungry kisses, coaxes a soft little moan from his friend’s mouth. 

Later, he smiles against Xavier’s skin. “I don’t mind weird.”


	5. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In terms of prompt, could be something like Fandango trying to get Tyler to dance with him and could lead from there”

“Stop touching me.”

Tyler swats Fandango’s hands away, but it’s no use. They inevitably return to try and sway him into motion, occasionally even pushing and pulling at his hips. It’s ridiculous and embarrassing, yet the other man’s delight at it is intoxicating and Tyler doesn’t have the heart to just run off and ruin the man’s good time. 

His boyfriend is laughing and making corny jokes about Tyler’s prowess and while it’s normally something that makes Tyler rage, he’s just left staring at the beaming smile that stretches across Fandango’s face. He’s _beautiful_.

Palms hug his hips again and Tyler tries to twist away. Fandango just follows, own hips moving sensuously to the beat and being positively sinful. It’s distracting as all hell, if Tyler’s being honest. 

“Come on, Ty, use your hips.”

“Aw, babe,” he says, lips curling. “As if you’re not familiar with how well I can use my hips. It usually has you singing my praises.”

“Ew, gross,” a far-away voice comments, but Tyler pays it no heed. Fandango is slowly pulling him around the room, hips occasionally grinding into his, and it’s setting his blood aflame.

He knows they look ridiculous. He knows it, yet somehow still allows Fandango to continue. Their dance is awkward and mostly due to his boyfriend’s insistence, but it’s almost nice. Fandango looks pleased, especially when Tyler relents and puts his hips into it, and his hands have now firmly gripped Tyler’s. Fingers caress his even as Fandango twirls him around and it’s so _him_ that Tyler honestly doesn’t mind.

When the song ends, Fandango has his arms around Tyler’s waist and his face buried into the other man’s neck. Tyler sighs, but counts to sixty in his head anyway. He is a considerate lover, after all.

“That wasn’t bad for our first dance,” Fandango says when Tyler claws out of his embrace.

“That was terrible.” Tyler glances at him. “You are terrible. Don’t ever make me do that again.”

Fandango laughs, neck arching back in long stretches of skin. Tyler wants to drag him off somewhere and bite at it.

“Oh, we’ll probably be dancing this little dance for the rest of our lives.”

“ _Terrible_ ,” Tyler repeats, voice harsh. He still can’t help the blush that colours his neck, though. When Fandango notices, he reaches out one long finger and brushes at it gently. Tyler catches Fandango’s indulgent smile when he looks up, all charming and sweet. It causes the blush to bloom even further.

Tyler pouts. _His boyfriend is ridiculous_.


	6. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He knows it and gets told plenty how handsome he is and girls - and guys - stare at him when he walks past. Even with his shirt on. He fucking knows, okay. So he shouldn’t be sitting here feeling inadequate. He’s above that shit. He’s Fandango.”

The thing is, Fandango knows he’s good looking. He spends time in the gym, he styles his hair just right, and he’s been told plenty of times his jawline is to die for. Hell, he owns a mirror. _He knows he’s good looking_. Close to perfect, if he has to admit. (The only reason he won’t admit to being perfect is because he has to have something to strive for. Plus, Breezy’s pretty much perfect and they’re not really that much alike. So he can’t be that perfect. Close enough, though!)

Anyway, he knows. He knows it and gets told plenty how handsome he is and girls - and guys - stare at him when he walks past. Even with his shirt on. _He fucking knows_ , okay. So he shouldn’t be sitting here feeling inadequate. He’s above that shit. He’s Fandango. His hips make cameras swivel his way. If he winks girls scream. He should not be insecure. And yet, he’s feeling small.

He feels stupid too. He’s watching Breezy be his charming, smug self from a distance and he feels like an idiot.

Tyler had been his usual over-the-top persona while doing an interview and it’d made Fandango smile. His boyfriend was a lot to handle and the female interviewer looked like she was close to a panic. A ladyboner-induced panic, though, because two smiles later she was looking at Tyler like he was the sun. Fandango didn’t blame her.

Then that question had come, though. The girl had sounded amused about it, even. She’d been all smiles.

“So, Tyler, we all know you’re the most gorgeous guy on the roster, but what about your co-workers? Who do you think the general audience would appreciate looking at the most?”

Fandango had expected some sort of joke, or a play on words, but Tyler’s answer was quite decisive.

“Aesthetically? Roman Reigns, I suppose. He’s definitely the most handsome guy on the roster-”

Fandango tuned out at that point. His stomach had done some weird things. It had made him feel like his feelings were dropping out through the bottom somehow. 

He still feels weird now and he’s not sure why. Okay, he knows why. He’d kind of hoped Tyler would find him the most handsome one. That he’d gotten over his eye for aesthetics. That his first answer wouldn’t have been Roman fucking Reigns. 

Look, he can see it. He too will readily admit Roman Reigns is a gorgeous man. But he’s not as gorgeous as Tyler. He’s not as agile and as swift. His smiles aren’t as bright, his skin isn’t as smooth, and though his hair is luxurious Fandango doesn’t want to grab it and hold on tight. Doesn’t want to kiss him breathless and hide him away from everyone else. To keep. To have. And he didn’t feel most of that about Tyler before he got to know him. Had always considered him pretty, but empty. Hadn’t fully realized he was more than a camera aimed at a nicely defined face.

Now he is more. More than aesthetics and confidence and Roman Reigns. So much more. And he’d kind of hoped getting to know each other would have done the same for Tyler. Made him see more. Except his go-to answer is still Roman. Still someone else. It makes him feel stupid for thinking otherwise.

In front of him, Tyler shakes the woman’s hand and smiles his fakest smile before hurrying over to Fandango. He looks nervous, somehow, jittery. Like the interview isn’t already behind him.

“Hey,” the blond man says. He’s wringing his hands and looking up at Fandango expectantly. Like he’s seen how this goes in his head and is just waiting for the inevitable. Not that he looks at all stricken about it. No, he looks almost…pleased? It makes Fandango grit his teeth. Well, fuck it, he’s not breaking up with Tyler. If Tyler wants handsome-ass Samoans he can be the one to break up with _him_.

“Hey.”

“So, ehm..” Tyler rarely fumbles with words, but he seems a bit lost now. “What did you think?”

“About? The interview as a whole, or that thing you said?”

“What I said, obviously.”

Fandango takes a moment to look at him. There’s a flush to his face and it’s peculiar. At the same time it makes him want to lick it. Even now, he’s lovely. It makes Fandango want to bash his head against a wall somewhere. How pathetic is he?

“Did you mean it?” he asks, defeated. Maybe it’d just been the right answer for this crowd. Maybe the WWE had urged them to go in this direction once Breezy came out. Play up how handsome Roman is. Put him over. Maybe-

“Of course!” Tyler interrupts his musing. “Completely. One hundred percent.”

Well, there went that idea. And he sounds so happy about it, too. Like he’s proud. It makes Fandango want to slap him. Or, no, not slap him. He really couldn’t. 

“So?” Tyler asks. “What do you think?” 

”It’s… Well, it’s whatever.”

Tyler looks stumped. “What?”

”You’re allowed to think that. Can’t say I agree.”

He’s not sure what exactly it was that he said, but as he stands there he watches Tyler’s face fall. Falling isn’t even the right word. The excited, expecting expression makes way for utter emptiness. Nothing. Like he’d imagined Tyler to be before they spent time together. Before he made an effort. Before Tyler let Fandango hold him down and whisper endearments in his ears, though he griped about it every step of the way. Before adoring kisses. _Before_.

Before has turned into _right now_. Tyler doesn’t even deem him worthy of a glance before he turns around.

“Breezy?” Fandango asks.

“Fucking ‘ _whatever_ ’,” Tyler mocks, then walks out. Fandango wants to follow, but something tells him he shouldn’t. Maybe it’s the way every single door slams shut behind the other man. Maybe it’s the way the temperature seems to have gone below freezing. Maybe it’s because Fandango feels like he’s done something wrong.

 

—

 

Hours later, when he’s in his hotel room and trying not to look at his phone too often, he can hear Tyler coming. It’s the pounding feet.

The door swings open with a rather violent slam when the feet arrive. Fandango will have to check the wall for dents later. Tyler doesn’t hesitate walking in, eyes ablaze and hair a mess. He’s holding a laptop, but it takes Fandango a while to notice because his facial expressions look positively venomous. He wouldn’t normally let people see him like this and Fandango is taking it in with wide eyes.

“No,” Tyler snarls. “No, I am not taking your shit. I am Tyler Breeze and it took me ages to want to say what I said, so I am not letting you get away with this. Fuck you.”

“Tyler, what-”

“ _Shut up_!” The laptop in his hands is dumped in Fandango’s lap. “You are going to sit there and watch this, because obviously you are hearing impaired or it didn’t register the first time around, or _something_. I don’t know what the fucking reason is, but I’m not going to give you this. I am not someone you say ‘whatever’ to. _Fuck you_.”

The video that starts playing is clearly from that morning. Tyler fast forwards it a bit, then sits down heavily next to him on the bed. Fandango can hear his hurried breathing and it makes him want to reach out, calm him. He doesn’t.

Instead he looks at the screen, but really doesn’t want to. Tyler is fidgeting, fuming, and it’s enough to make him focus. Tyler doesn’t fidget, not unless something is eating him up. And he isn’t usually this angry. This must be important. So he watches and takes in his lover’s handsome features on the screen, the way the light deepens his angles and the way his eyes brighten. He’s still gorgeous, of course.

When _the_ answer comes, he can feel Tyler looking at him intently. He sighs softly to himself.

“Aesthetically? Roman Reigns, I suppose. He’s definitely the most handsome guy on the roster, if you’re talking general audiences. It’s the jawline and luxurious hair, I think,” the Tyler on screen says, delicate hand waving in the air to punctuate every word. Fandango’s own hands are sweating, but he glumly continues to watch anyway and tries not to mind.

The woman nods. “Is he your type?”

Tyler laughs - a clear, real sound Fandango wasn’t expecting - and shakes his head. “Nah. I’m taken. Happily taken. And while my guy’s no Roman Reigns, he’s perfect for me, so fuck that. Who needs a hunky Samoan when you’ve got someone who can put up with _me_ and is ridiculously handsome to boot?”

The interviewer almost coos at him. It’s ridiculous, but Fandango can’t blame her. He’s staring at the screen, mouth agape, as she jumps in with another comment.

“You sound all love-struck. I thought Tyler Breeze only really loved his reflection?”

It could be the lights, or the screen, but it looks like Tyler is blushing. Actually _blushing_. 

“I guess not,” he mumbles. 

The real Tyler reaches over and pauses the video. They’re both silent, but not for long. Tyler puts the laptop away, then rounds on him.

“You don’t fucking _whatever_ that, you asshole. I basically told you I… I implied I lo- I implied stuff, for fuck’s sake. I said it on camera! And you say it’s whatever. I can’t believe you’d say that to me, of all people! How da-”

“Tyler!” Fandango grabs his face, trying to remain gentle. The other man looks frantic, like he isn’t ready to stop ranting, but with the pressure of fingers he quiets. He looks up at Fandango and for the first time he can recognize that behind the anger and the embarrassment there’s hurt. And disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against Tyler’s forehead. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You always say nice things and you’re so good to me. I thought…” Tyler sounds soft now. “I kind of assumed…”

“I do,” Fandango insists. “Fuck, I do. I’m so sorry, babe. I didn’t get to the good part. I kind of zoned out after you started praising Roman’s good looks.”

“What?” Tyler sounds puzzled.

“I didn’t hear that next bit. I heard you talk about Roman like you did and got jealous.” He swallows, fists clenching. He needs to say it. “I got jealous because - and I’m going to be a big man and come out and say it - I am in love with you. Kind of ridiculously so. You had me sulking for over an hour. So…there you have it. I didn’t hear.”

He sees the hand coming when it comes up, but he doesn’t move. The slap isn’t a hard one and he almost smiles. Tyler is fuming again, but this time his eyes shine.

“You fucking idiot!” Tyler yells and Fandango just nods. He let his lover rage. Lets him hit him in the head a second time. Even allows him to kick him in the shins. It’s a tantrum and it’s ridiculous and he knows Tyler’s just doing it to avoid talking about emotions. So he goes along willingly when Tyler eventually caves and pulls him in, lips searching. Groans into the kiss. 

“Guess I ‘whatever’ you too, you asshole,” Tyler eventually says. Fandango’s glad to hear it.


	7. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: So I’ve been totally loving the Fabreeze duo and I’d kill for fic where Tyler Breeze - pristine, immaculate, vain Tyler - gets off harder than anything on being fucked up and ruined and humiliated. Cue Fandango spitting on him, coming on his face, slapping him, smearing leftover lube on his chest before he fucks him, grabbing him by the hair… maybe even a golden shower if you feel up to it.
> 
> I want to see Tyler completely broken down, sobbing and humbled while Fandango tells him how fucking filthy and disgusting he looks - and then putting him back together with a warm bath, gentle words and tender kisses.
> 
> Please.

He's never seen Tyler like this. From the day they met – a quick handshake in a locker room somewhere, though he remembers those lips, the sharp eyes, and the way he'd wanted to tug on that hair even then – Tyler has always been perfection. Hovering somewhere above him, self-imagined halo firmly in place, the man had been gorgeous and unobtainable. 

He's still gorgeous, of course, but Fandango's allowed to reach him now. Sometimes he even imagines Tyler likes it when he's touched reverently, or looked at for a touch too long and too hungrily. So he's gotten to ruffle his perfection and break through that pristine shell in the past. But this...

Tyler Breeze, pupils blown and skin wrecked with minute tremors, is kneeling in front of him and looking a mess. It's nothing like Fandango has ever seen before and it makes him want to destroy the other man. Break him further. Ruin the front he puts up and forces others to appreciate. Make him _human_. 

It had started out with Fandango being a bit too frustrated and Tyler letting him pull too hard, push too far. Smart-mouthed, self-absorbed Tyler Breeze had let him. Fandango's breath still stutters when he thinks about it. And so he'd continued and with every callous word Tyler had succumbed further, his cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

“Never imagined you'd be so hot for this,” he murmurs, pushing his spit slicked cock against Tyler's face. He holds it there, watching as Tyler breathes shallowly and can't help but lean in, rubbing his cheek against it as if he needs more.

Fandango groans. “Pretty, perfect little Tyler Breeze, scraping his knees raw for me.” 

He forces Tyler's mouth open with his cock. Forces him to take it. It's glorious, seeing bright eyes turn frantic a second before they shutter and Tyler swallows rapidly around his dick. He seems desperate for it and Fandango moans as he presses deeper, feels the muscles in Tyler's throat flutter and constrict. Only when he knows he's pushing his limits does he pull back, letting the head of his cock rest on wet, ruby red lips. Drool has gathered at the side of Tyler's mouth and Fandango swipes it away, across his cheek and the bridge of his nose. Tyler's sharp intake of breath and the clenching of his hands where they hold onto his own legs is the only indication he's noticed.

“God, look how hard your dick is.”

Fandango pushes forward again, lingering there as Tyler works his cock with skilful lips and an eager tongue. 

“Such a slut. Look at you, taking my cock so well,” he says. “Drooling all over yourself trying to get it all in, aren't you?”

And he is. Fandango can see a trail of it run down the blond's neck. His skin glistens with it and it looks glorious, because this is so far removed from what Fandango's used to from him. He ruins it further by grabbing a handful of hair and wrenching Tyler's face forward, thrusting even deeper and feeling the other man choke. The convulsions around his cock feel so nice he maybe holds on a bit too long, but he can't help it. Those lips straining around his dick just feel too good.

“Fucking hell, babe,” he groans, tangling his hands in shiny hair, tugging and thrusting as tears leak from Tyler's eyes. He's let go of his legs, Fandango sees, and is now gripping the run-down carpet he'd been forced down on. It's disgusting, layered in years of filth and very little upkeep, and yet Tyler is holding on tight, even moving his hips desperately to try and get some friction on his cock.

“No, no,” Fandango says, forcing Tyler to raise himself on his haunches. The smaller man whines, then sputters as Fandango continues to fuck his mouth and ruin his hair.

“You can get off when I'm done,” he bites, one hand falling away from the golden locks and smearing more spit across hollowed cheeks. “And I'm not done yet, pet.”

Tyler shakes at that name and Fandango smirks. “Even nicknames do it for you? Fuck, I didn't know you were that easy. That _filthy_. You were just waiting for me to figure it out, weren't you? For me to grab you and use you. Bring out the _real_ you.”

He pulls out quickly and watches as Tyler wants to follow, a ribbon of spit falling from his lips. He looks disorientated, _wrecked_ , and that thought gathers in the pit of Fandango's stomach. 

“Down,” he orders, nudging the other man with his knee until he's face first on the ground, delicate skin pressed to rough carpet. He's pleased with the way Tyler automatically hitches his hips up, keeping them elevated and ready. He knows what's coming and by the almost content look on his face, he's aching for it.

Fandango grabs the lube with one hand and palms his cock with the other. It's soaked with Tyler's spit, all slick and sensitive. It makes him want to clutch it tighter and bring himself off, but he can't. Just looking at the soft, unmarked stretch of skin on the man's back makes him want to soil it. And that pert little ass makes him want to do a lot more.

He lowers himself behind the man, fingers coated in lube and already pressing for entrance. Tyler's tight, but Fandango's impatient and so he ignores the tiny sobs that make his lover's entire body heave. He ignores the cries and the glimmer of tears running down a delicate cheek. As the fingers of one hand pull Tyler apart, the other keeps his own cock rock hard.

“There you go,” he murmurs, twisting three fingers savagely as he watches the way the rim stretches around his knuckles. He carefully thrusts into his own hand, imagining it's the ass in front of him, squeezing so tight. 

His fingers eventually leave the wet heat when his patience has run thin and they smear the lube across Tyler's ass, towards his shoulders. They're slick as he uses the man's long hair to clean them off. Tyler just whines softly, mouth closing on a gasp as Fandango pulls on his dick in reproach.

“Look at you, still hard. What a fucking little slut.” He positions his cock at Tyler's entrance. It'll be a tight fit, he knows, but oh so worth it. “You gonna be a good boy now? Let me fuck you nice and hard?” 

Tyler's legs inch further apart and Fandango laughs. “Yeah, I thought so.”

He's not gentle when he fucks into Tyler. Even when the sobs and broken little moans return, he doesn't pause. It's not his responsibility to be nice, he feels. Tyler can say stop. Tyler can move away. _Tyler is still rock hard_. And Fandango's too horny to be gentle with someone who clearly doesn't want that.

“Jesus,” he moans. “I can't believe I bothered with all that foreplay shit before when you just needed a cock up your ass. So good, babe.”

He was close before and it doesn't take him long to get there again. He has one hand on Tyler's neck, forcing his face down against the floor and muffling Tyler's cries. The mess of his hair splays over his neck and Fandango grounds himself in it as he snaps his hips. With every thrust, he can hear Tyler squeal against the carpet, eyes shut tight.

“Oh fuck!” he swears as he reaches the point of no return, pulling out just in time to coat Tyler's neck and hair in cum. With a greedy, final thrust he pushes back in and forced the man down. He watches intently as Tyler moans through his own orgasm, hands filthy as he strokes his dick and soils the ground.

Fandango smears the remaining cum across Tyler's cheek, then leans in to nuzzle at the skin and breath it in. The blond's breath still comes in harsh pants, but his eyes are strained on Fandango's face. He smiles back.

“Look at you, covered in cum and face down on the ground. You're fucking perfect.”

Tyler doesn't have the energy to reply.

 

\---

 

It's Fandango who drags him up from the ground and towards the bathroom. He carefully removes most of the cum with a wet towel, then kisses Tyler on the side of the head and nudges him towards the bath. Steam is billowing around them as they settle, Tyler's back heavy against Fandango's chest.

The water is scorching, but he remains in it nonetheless because the man in his arms has closed his eyes and is breathing steadily. He's enjoying this, so he just lets him lean back, occasionally smooths a hand over beautiful skin. Later on he gently rubs against Tyler's sore hole, making him hiss, and he feels bad for what he did earlier. What he said. Not for long, though, because the move makes the blond suck bruises into his neck. Makes him whisper words of thanks.

“You were beautiful,” he says, voice hitching on every vowel because Tyler's hand is playing with his cock. He's not sure he could get it up so soon, but he'd be willing to try. 

“Hmm,” Tyler replies. “And you were fucking hot.”

“I didn't know that was something you wanted.”

Tyler sighs. “It isn't normally. But sometimes, sometimes I just need to be less... I don't know. Me, maybe.”

Fandango hums, kissing Tyler's hair. “I think I understand. Just let me know when you need it and you've got it, okay? Whenever you want.”

Tyler's eyes crinkle as he smiles. It kind of makes Fandango's heart thud faster. 

“You're ridiculous,” the blond says. 

He probably is. Fandango really doesn't mind.


	8. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: fabreeze first time together but tyler calls fandango johnny (as in johnny curtis, his previous ring name)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a bit heavier than I intended it to be when I started. Also, I am so used to calling him Fandango that I kind of did both? I’m sorry, it was just weird not calling him that so I had Johnny as Fandango’s first name. I’m sorry, it’s an easy way out.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: This ficlet includes homophobia, internalized homophobia, implications of abuse – but not between the main pairing - and unhealthy ways of dealing with issues related to all this.**

Fandango is straight. Or, at least, he thought he was. He’s starting to question some things now. Maybe he’ll have to re-evaluate some other things in the future as well. It sounds exhausting and really not worth it. 

The point is, he’s dated nothing but girls in the past. And yet, here he is getting all hot and bothered because Tyler Breeze is sucking on a lollipop like he’s in a porno and fluffing the main star.

They are…friends, if he has to call them anything. Co-workers who got to know each other and realized they had things in common. Not girls, though – he found that out on the third night of rooming together when he came back to see Tyler on his knees in front of some random guy – but enough things to build a friendship on. So, yes, they are friends.

He’s straight and they are friends, but his dick just can’t seem to realize this. It’s twitching with every expert sweep of the tongue and he can feel himself fatten in his pants, especially when blue eyes turn his way and Tyler’s expression turns smug.

“Want a taste?”

They’d been watching a movie earlier, but if anyone asked Fandango what it’d been about now, he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to answer. His brain’s been fried.

“Ah, no thanks,” he answers. 

He feels like reminding himself of how straight he is. So very straight. Straight, straight, straight. Boobs and lip gloss and high heels straight. So why does he keep glancing at the redness of his friend’s lips. Why does he think back to the last time they were in the shower together and Breeze made a right show of soaping himself up? He’d watched rivulets of water wash over shiny skin and the way hands gripped flesh. That isn’t normal. 

Fandango swallows.

“You seem flustered,” Tyler says, getting up to throw away the remnants of his lollipop. Fandango feels instantly relieved.

“It’s hot in here.”

Or maybe it’s just him. He carefully positions his legs so it’s not quite as obvious what he thought of Tyler fellating a piece of candy. He feels weird. He’s honestly not gay. Never even felt the urge to touch another man like that, but lately Tyler’s made him wonder. He looks, sometimes, and he knows the looks dip too low, linger on places they shouldn’t. He has occasionally caught himself thinking his friend is gorgeous. And he’d known that, of course. From a purely aesthetic standpoint he can recognize when a guy is handsome or – in Tyler’s case – _pretty_ , but it never affected him. Never made him stare at someone’s lips the way he’s looked at Tyler’s the last few weeks. 

It must be because he’s so overt about being pretty. That has to be it. He’s surrounded by nothing but men so often that he latched onto the prettiest one he knew. He’s just dealing with not having had a girlfriend in months. It’s a coping mechanism, pure and simple.

Coming to that conclusion settles his nerves. He’s not into guys, he’s just…horny. Horny he can deal with. Maybe he’ll have to find Summer and see if she’s still amenable to his charms.

“Wow, someone’s lost in thought,” an amused voice says from right in front of him. Fandango looks up. “What’s got you so distracted?”

Tyler’s eyes dance as they bear down on him. He’s moved, somehow, while Fandango was trying hard to explain things to himself. He’s continuing to move and eventually pauses between Fandango’s legs, shins hitting the bed the older man is sitting on. Fandango is starting to feel hot again.

“I…” 

He can’t. He has nothing to say. Not one to be lost for words, this is an alien sensation. One of many, because Tyler is smiling benignly at him like he’s figured it all out and is just letting Fandango catch up. He’s never seen Tyler look at him like that before. Like he’s being considerate. 

His grin turns wicked then. So maybe not.

“You know, I was going to give you time and let you get over your gay panic on your own,” Tyler drawls, one slender finger dragging along Fandango’s jaw. He feels his pulse race. “But, honestly, it’s taking too long and you’re too handsome.”

“I don’t know…” Fandango stutters. “I’m not…”

Tyler grins again. “Oh, I know. It’s okay, Johnny, I’ve been with plenty of straight men. You wouldn’t be the first.”

There’s no time to reply or rebuke, because Tyler leans in and is kissing him. He’s used his first name and is _kissing_ him. Neither things are something Tyler Breeze does. Fandango’s brain is busy short-circuiting as he feels the steady, pleasant drag of lips on his. It’s nice, somehow, and he would never have expected Tyler Breeze’s kisses to be nice. Passionate, maybe. Demanding. Possibly teasing, because Tyler Breeze is nothing but. Not nice.

His mouth is hot, though, and Fandango almost misses it when Tyler pulls away. The other man watches him carefully, just watches, and the fingers that have trailed past his cheekbone flatten against the side of his face. It’s like the blond sees something in Fandango’s eyes, because he nods and moves in again.

This time the kiss certainly isn’t nice. It’s still hot, but it’s more than that. It’s Tyler taking full command and holding Fandango in place, other hand firmly on his shoulder. He can feel his own breath hitch as Tyler tilts his head back and deepens the kiss, pulls a sound from his throat. 

This time Fandango can’t help but respond. It’s torn from him, this sudden need to kiss back and lose himself in it. Kisses are kisses, regardless of who’s doing the kissing, and this one makes him want more. Want harder. So he groans into the kiss and bites at Tyler’s lower lip, heat sparking when he receives a pleased murmur. He does it again and again until there’s even a moan.

“Fuck,” Tyler says as he pulls back. Fandango has little time to himself before he’s pushed back roughly, shoulders to the bed.

Tyler looms over him, hands on either side of his head, and Fandango is entranced. He’s also a bit scared. 

The other man’s lips are still red, but now from something other than a lollipop. His hair looks surprisingly neat, tucked away and tied up, and Fandango wants to pull it all loose. But he doesn’t, because the sudden realisation of what he’s doing hits him hard. He takes a long, sharp breath. His heart beats wildly, but it’s out of something akin to panic this time.

“Is this the point where you freak out?” Tyler asks, voice remarkably calm. “Because if so, I would prefer it if you didn’t punch me in the face.”

Fandango bristles. “ _What_? I would nev- _Why would you think that_?!”

Tyler tilts his head and there’s an expression on his face Fandango can’t place. He wishes he knew the other man well enough for that. He doesn’t, though he wants to.

“Some men get really angry when they realize they want to fuck my brains out.”

The sad thing is, Fandango can see it. He can imagine how it went with startling clarity. Tyler, being his glorious, flamboyant self, enjoying life and enjoying showing off, while against the wall some grizzled, overly masculine asshole can’t stop watching him. A quick, flirtatious smile from Breeze, the dawning realization from the other guy that he wants to pin Tyler to the wall – and not in a bad way – and then the embarrassed, homophobic terror explodes. 

It makes him reach out and touch Tyler’s face, smooth his thumb over the places he knows fists probably landed. His fingertips move gingerly so he doesn’t have to say anything, doesn’t have to acknowledge the times guys – guys a bit too much like him – broke something in the other man, both figuratively and all too real. 

“You can pretend I’m a girl, if it makes you feel better,” Tyler murmurs, expression shuttered. Like he thought about it too. Like bad memories have been dragged up and he’s thinking of ways to avoid them. The fact he even considers it necessary makes Fandango angry.

 

“Jesus, Tyler.” He raises himself on one elbow, other hand still moving gently across the planes of the man’s gorgeous face. “Don’t say stuff like that. Men who do that don’t deserve you.”

He feels Tyler shrug. It’s so easy, so casual. Too casual. Like he’s had to do this before so many times that it’s become normal. _It shouldn’t be normal_.

“I am not pretending,” he hisses, then leans in further, captures Tyler’s mouth. Later he’ll reflect on his reason for doing so and that it probably wasn’t entirely healthy, but for now he presses deeper, enjoys a startled inhale followed by utter relaxation. Tyler melts, body light when Fandango drops back to the bed and pulls the other man with him.

“Johnny,” Tyler mumbles between kisses. “You don’t have to do this to make up for other people’s mistakes.”

“Shut up.” He makes a show of looking Tyler in the eye. This is definitely something he doesn’t want the other man to misunderstand him on. “I _want to_.”

He purposefully places his hand on Tyler’s ass, surprised at how nervous he is just from doing that. It’s foolish and his terrified expression must show. Tyler raises an eyebrow at him.

Fandango grimaces. “I want to. I’ve just never…”

“Oh, look. Handsome, charming Fandango,” Tyler mocks, but he’s laughing openly and it’s nice to see, “shaking like a virgin on prom night because it’s his _first time_.”

“First time with a _guy_.”

Tyler laughs again, then grinds down heavily. Fandango swears at the weight brushing against his erection – still there, which probably reveals more than any words could – and the way he can feel Tyler’s cock, too. And, well, that’s a completely foreign sensation. 

“I imagine it’s pretty similar to having sex with a girl,” Tyler says. “And we don’t have to go there. I’ve been told I have a pretty great mouth.”

And isn’t that a nice imagine. Tyler’s mouth, hot and wet around his dick, showing his experience. The man glancing up at Fandango through his eyelashes, fingers taut on his thigh. It makes him groan and buck up, arms curling around Tyler’s waist. Oh, it’s a nice image, but it’s not the one he’s been thinking about the last few minutes. He wants Tyler now, naked and shivering beneath him, out of breath and out of words. 

“No,” he rumbles. “I want… I…”

He feels like a teenager, stuck gazing up at a girl miles out of his league before taking the plunge and pressing clumsy lips to hers. It’s embarrassing and yet kind of thrilling, lying there and being so out of his depth, so out of control. 

He sighs. “I’m just not going to be any good at this.”

Tyler smiles, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s almost chaste. Fandango can feel his breath shudder past as he does and it’s so ridiculously intimate he closes his eyes. He’s never been quite this unsure before about something as familiar as sex. Not since that first time. But he supposes this is a first time all on its own.

“That’s okay, I’ll take the lead,” Tyler says, leaning back to deftly unbuckle his pants and shove them down. The sudden pressure as Tyler moves makes Fandango groan.

Tyler continues calmly, freeing himself of all of his clothes. He’s unselfconscious about it and Fandango envies him this. Envies his air of disinterest. Tyler Breeze is not fazed by this as much as he is.

He must look either disgruntled or worried, because Tyler cocks an eyebrow at him.

“I have experience, Johnny. You’re not the first straight guy I’ve ever slept with.” He shrugs. “You really have nothing to worry about.”

“Is that your thing, then, tempting straight guys and being their first? You going to go for Dean Ambrose next?” he can’t help but ask. Tyler stills, his weight settling on Fandango’s legs. He’s completely naked now and it’s distracting. Fandango had never thought it would be.

“No.” Tyler’s voice is cold. “I just so happen to be surrounded by lots of macho straight guys. I guess I have a type. They tend to be assholes, too, so you fit right in.”

Fandango flinches.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, hand searching and grabbing Tyler’s knee. It’s a weird sort of comfort, but he’s still trapped beneath the other man’s bulk and can’t do much else. “You’re right, I’m an asshole. I’m just nervous.”

Tyler seems to forgive him easily – too easily, making Fandango frown at all the men before him who chipped away at the man’s self-worth - as the annoyance is swept aside by a quirk of a smile. He gets a kiss before Tyler leans back to the side of the bed, grabbing something. _Lube_. A condom. Fandango swallows. Tyler unseats himself and throws his body to the bed, looking back at Fandango with amusement. He seems entertained by the look in Fandango’s eyes, maybe, and the way his body wants to follow. Indeed, complaints threaten to work their way out of Fandango’s mouth when agile fingers move downwards, but he stays quiet even though he can’t see what’s going on and he thinks he might want to.

“Get naked already,” Tyler says. “I’ve got this.”

Fandango nods. It doesn’t shock him how willing he is to follow the other man’s orders. When he’s ready, he watches with detached interest as Tyler prepares himself further, head thrown back and mouth tight. It’s a bit of a blur, really, and he barely recalls anything, nor the encouragements as he finally gets to sink into the blond. 

What he does remember is hands clutching at him and the momentary look of panic in Tyler’s eyes when Fandango had regarded him for a moment too long. Like he’s going to up and run, still. After all this. He doesn’t, of course, though his body trembles. He’d never expected to like this, looking down at a flushed Tyler Breeze, eyes hooded but locked on his face.

When he pushes in deeper, he groans. It’s warm and tight and similar to a woman, yet not at all the same. The sensation is startling and he feels slightly afraid. Like he’s on the edge of something. Something he’d never contemplated. He’s straight, isn’t he? So then why does this knock the breath from his lungs? Why does looking at Tyler – all man, pretty though he is – not repulse him? He doesn’t realize he’s furrowing his brow until Tyler scolds him – voice shaky, but insistent. 

“Relax.” Fandango isn’t sure he can. “Johnny, _relax_. You’re fine.”

“I’m just as bad as those guys that hurt you,” he rasps. He stops moving. “I act like I’m better than them, but here I am thinking I shouldn’t be okay with this.”

“Johnny.” Tyler’s voice is gentle, his eyes to match. It makes Fandango feel even worse.

“I’m sorry.”

A hand settles on his cheek. Calming, comforting, but he can feel the tension there. Tyler’s looking up at him. “We really going to do this while you’ve got your cock up my ass?”

“I…”

“ _No_.” Fingers tighten around his wrist. “I’m fine. You’re fine. _We’re_ fine. If you want to talk about it, then pull out and get dressed and we’ll talk. But if not, _fuck me_ , because I’ve been waiting months for you to catch up to how I feel and I’m selfish enough to want this now and not later.”

He should probably go for the sensible option. Reconsider, think it through, and then maybe try again. If Tyler even still wants him then. No one’s ever accused him of being sensible, though, and the tense line of Tyler’s jaw makes him lean in – both of them groaning, because the movement causes exquisite friction – and press his face into Tyler’s neck. It’s good they’re both flexible, really.

“Be selfish with me,” he whispers and feels Tyler wrap his arms around him tighter.

“Please,” the blond begs and he complies, relaxing into their shared rhythm. 

Being caught in strong, powerful arms is a new sensation he never thought he’d like. When he rears back, putting more power into it, he can watch Tyler unabashedly. The way he’s closed his eyes, brow frowning occasionally and then smoothing out when Fandango fucks him just right. The way he’s talking to himself, whining occasionally, so softly no one but Tyler can hear. The way he smiles, blindingly, when they’re both knackered out on the bed, content and boneless.

Fandango knows he can’t have been very good – his motions awkward, hesitant, needing direction – but Tyler seems pleased nonetheless. He burrows into Fandango’s side when both have caught their breath, forcing him to dispense the condom by a haphazard throw in the garbage can’s direction. With a bit of luck, it’ll have gone in. Fandango is too tired to care.

He stares at the ceiling, counting the cracks, while he tries to figure out if he feels weird or not about what they just did. Tyler sure doesn’t, because he’s busy leaning over Fandango and tracing his abs with a tentative finger. Whenever Fandango shivers, he laughs softly, and it’s nice, albeit a bit ticklish.

“You okay?” the blond man eventually asks. Fandango takes a moment to reconsider.

“Yeah.” He wraps an arm around Tyler’s shoulder. “I think I’m cool.”

“Good. I look forward to showing you exactly how awesome sex with Tyler Breeze can be when you’re not half-way to panicking every time you so much as glance at my dick.”

Fandango is surprised at the sudden chuckle that leaves him, but he doesn’t mind. He especially doesn’t mind when Tyler smiles – small, gentle, _intimate_ , like he’s never seen him before – and snuggles closer.

They’ll be fine.


	9. Roman Reigns/Seth Rollins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: ‘bad breakup and we still can’t stay away from one another’

It had been one of those nights. His joints ached for no reason, his skin itched, and too many people had been trying to be supportive today. 'You’ll be back in the big leagues in no time!’ they said. 'You’re revitalize the US championship’ they claimed. They all meant well, but he was just so tired of the meaningless drivel. He’d sat backstage, watching the things that followed – and, wow, had that been a while – and gotten ready for any last minute dark matches they’d need him for.

Now, with the night over, he could finally relax. So he did, even though he wasn’t sure he deserved it. 

Most people had left – ready to get out of there and find their respective hotel rooms, or some the nearest bar – and the rush of that evening had mostly moved into closed rooms. Vince and Hunter were no doubt arguing about something, while everyone smiled awkwardly, and the nearby hallways were devoid of life once everyone had escaped. Only the cleaning crew remained and they were generally quiet as a mouse.

Even the locker room had cleared out, save for one or two bags and Roman himself. So he’d sat down, tied up his hair, and carefully undressed. But instead of getting the peace he sorely needed, he was interrupted soon after because life liked throwing curve balls his way. Like others before, this one was self-inflicted too.

“Get out,” he snapped.

Seth didn’t listen and sauntered in anyway, hair a mess and smile smug. It looked fake to Roman’s expert eyes, but he turned away immediately. Caring about things like that had long since stopped being his problem.

“Wow. So _grumpy_.” 

Had it been anyone else, Roman would have felt rude about ducking his head and continuing to undress. Seth Rollins, however, would have expected nothing less and he knew giving the man attention was going to work out horribly for the both of them. Even if he could see the way Seth lingered near him, or the way both still had to force down the habit of looking for each other in a crowd.

They weren’t those kind of people any more. They probably shouldn’t have been, even if it had been amazing at times and a thrill during others. Roman never should have let Seth back in, especially after what had happened. Their myriads of break-ups had been painful, yet they drifted back together anyway and Roman was supposed to be the _sensible_ one.

Yet, when he looked up Seth stood in the centre of the room, just awkwardly staring at him. Like he didn’t know why he was there or why he hadn’t left. As if he hadn’t just entered a room he knew Roman was going to be in, looking for a confrontation. Seth was the one who usually instigated like this, but Roman should be the one to not give in. For once. Even though he missed that closeness even more now that he had even fewer things to fall back on and even more people doubted him.

“ _No_ ,” he stated firmly.

“No what?”

Roman looked over momentarily. “You know what.”

The other man didn’t reply. He just calmly walked over, like Roman hadn’t just told him off. Not that he’d ever been impressed by such things. Usually Roman getting heated made the man smile. He loved seeing that passion, needled Roman until he lashed out, as if he felt powerful to have achieved such a thing. And Roman, well he’d always liked that. Liked getting to let go, even if the angry brute thing wasn’t really him. He’d liked venting, though, and looming over Seth, watching the lust cloud his eyes. In those moments he felt equally in control.

A hand touched his shoulder and Roman shrugged it off immediately. Seth didn’t seem to care, just bent down and grinned. 

“Why don’t you explain it to me, big guy.”

“ _Seth_ ,” he warned.

Seth just winked, his smirk curling even more. Roman felt naked under the man’s scrutiny, because he knew what Seth was thinking about – long nights together, spent mouthing at hot skin, of hands tangling in hair and nails leaving trails across sensitive backs. He knew, because those images flashed in his own mind and he shouldn’t let them. This is how mistakes happened. This is how they’d end up waking up, groggy and comfortable, only to fight and break up again. They always did. 

Roman had enough to deal with without adding heartbreak to the mix.

“Why don’t you explain,” Seth began, hand returning to Roman’s shoulder. He shivered under the touch. “what you don’t want me to do. Kiss you, maybe? I did always enjoy kissing you. Maybe blow you in the shower, while we know anyone could walk in. Or maybe you’d prefer to press me against the wall and fuck me. It’s been a wh-”

Roman interrupted him with a quick shove against his sternum. He got to his feet, ignoring the momentary shock on Seth’s face, and then pushed him aside. Maybe he’d pushed a bit too hard, actually, because Seth’s head collided with the wall. Roman ignored it and followed him, pressing his arm across the man’s chest anyway and swatting a hand away with the other. 

“ _Stop_!”

“Ow, man. Be gentle with me, okay? I’m a delicate soul.”

“Shut up,” Roman groused, but Seth was just chuckling to himself now. 

Chuckling and writhing against the wall, hips occasionally colliding with Roman’s. He was being his usual, frustrating self, but Roman had always had trouble seeing that as a negative. It was more of a front, he’d found out. Something to hide away the fact Seth felt alone and abandoned most of the time. That he had no one to trust. Roman had found it rewarding to push through that wall, once upon a time, and get to the softer side of the man. The one that had let Roman cradle his face with large hands, or relished in the feel of being held down on the bed. A side that Roman had grown to love, damn it, even though it hid behind an arrogant, vindictive mask more often than not.

Roman wanted to love that Seth, but he couldn’t. He _shouldn’t_. He maybe still did anyway.

“Thought you could use a distraction after that talking down,” Seth said, sharp eyes focused on Roman’s lips. “I know about being a let down, after all.”

“Just stop, Seth.”

For once, Seth did. He stopped squirming and the hand that had been working its way up Roman’s chest stilled on his shoulder, fingertips just touching Roman’s neck. His eyes moved away Roman’s lips, finally, and caught Roman’s instead. They looked sad and it made Roman’s breath catch. It made him want to run, but his entire body was still holding Seth in place, muscles twitching.

“I’m not sure I can.” Seth looked away, then. “I’m supposed to enjoy my run, right? I’m finally back, after all those months. I’m going for titles and wrestling in main events, on top of the world, but it’s not the same. I’m back, but not back with you.”

“We’re terrible together, Seth. The last time we broke up we had to repay the hotel thousands in damages.”

“Yeah, but we’re also damn good together, aren’t we?” Seth’s hand resumed his exploration, slotting comfortably in a tangle of hair. He pulled, gently but insistent enough for Roman to feel it. To remember. He held back a groan.

“We were so good, Ro,” Seth whispered, pulling him forward and pressing his mouth against Roman’s neck. It made him shake. “You were always so good.”

“We’re going to fuck up again,” he said, feeling his resolve weaken as Seth mouthed filthy words into his skin. He couldn’t quite hear them, but he could imagine. He knew the man. Knew him so well. Well enough to know what he liked and what he’d do. Also knew Roman would have to be the one to end it when they got too toxic for each other again. Because Seth never could.

“ _Seth_ ,” he whined. 

He wanted to be strong. He was supposed to be. Big, powerful Roman Reigns. The sensible one. The loyal one. The one who could never deny Seth anything, not even when he knew he had to. He supposed that made him terribly weak.

Roman felt Seth press against him even more, other hand dipping into the back of his pants. It made him want to hold the man down. Kiss him breathless.

“This is a terrible idea.”

He could feel Seth mutter a low 'yes’ into his neck. The fingers in his hair clenched.

“But until we break up again, let’s have a hell of a time, yeah?”

Roman closed his eyes, cursing himself, and then did what he wanted to. He pulled Seth up, forced the man’s legs around his waist, and muffled any further words with a kiss. 

Any aches and pains he might have felt earlier were quickly forgotten. His body hummed, finally relaxed.


	10. Dean Ambrose/Brock Lesnar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Just pretend to be my date.”

It’s awkward. Dean is used to awkward situations, but Heyman’s wandered off somewhere and Brock is standing next to him, just…breathing. Being. Impressive and tall and straining a too tight suit for no reason. Dean, on the other hand, knows he is looking a touch dishevelled and there’s no way he’ll be let into the fancy restaurant he’d been invited to. Then again, Heyman had barely mentioned something about ‘going out and discussing business’ before Brock had literally pulled him along to his car.

All of his supposed friends had just stared and watched it happen, too. The traitors.

“What are we doing here again?” he asks. Brock looks even more grumpy.

“Business.”

“Care to elaborate? I’m really not up for fighting Randy for you, if that’s what this is all about. I have enough issues with Dolph and that weirdo Bray.” 

Brock actually turns his head at that and raises an eyebrow. It’s enough for Dean to raise his hands in surrender.

“Okay, yeah, maybe me calling people weirdos is a bit much. But you get my point!”

The line they’re in moves closer to the door and he can already see security look at his tattered jeans and leather jacket. There’s no way they’ll let him in. Not even if he flashes his championship belt at them. (And he left it in the car, because, frankly, he doesn’t trust Brock _or_ Heyman.)

“I don’t know what your plan was, but there’s no way I’m getting past those guys looking like I do.”

Brock sighs, sounding aggrieved, and looks straight ahead again.

“You can be my plus one, it’ll be fine.”

“Your _what_ now?”

“Just pretend to be my date. _It’ll be fine_.”

“In what universe would I ever be your date?!”

“This one. Now shut the fuck up and fix your hair, or something. You talk too much.”

Dean might be crazy, but he’s not suicidal, so he temporarily does as asked. Glancing to his left, he can see Brock is just standing there, hands in his pocket and pose relaxed. As if someone who looks like that and destroys people within seconds could ever be relaxed. Sometimes Dean thinks the guy is perpetually ready for combat. It’s kind of amazing, if he’s honest.

When they reach security, Brock drops an arm around Dean’s shoulder and it’s the most ridiculous thing Dean has ever experienced. Even worse, the men who could deny him entry see this as a perfectly normal occurrence and motion for both of them to walk right in. As Dean looks over his shoulder, he can see a woman in a beautiful dress is being denied in the same breath.

“I’m in the Twilight Zone,” he murmurs to himself and feels weird when the comfortable weight of an arm around his shoulders drops away.

“Wait,” he says, as he realizes something. “They were totally cool with you doing that. No questions asked. Does this mean this happens often? Is this a thing you do, bringing in random guys?”

Brock shrugs, then gives him a smirk. Dean shouldn’t be zeroing in on that the way he is. _What the fuck_.

“What, you annoyed you’re not special, Deano?” Brock asks, shit-eating grin firmly in place. Dean both loves and hates it at that moment.

“I just… I have to admit, I never expected that from you.”

Brock shrugs again and seems amazingly cavalier about it all. But then, Dean can’t imagine that after all the things he’s done, bringing in male dates would be something he’s concerned about. 

“Some men really like being dominated,” the other man speaks, casually. “And, as I’m sure you can imagine, I don’t mind doing the dominating.”

Oh, Dean can definitely imagine it. Even more so when the larger man leans in. He feels his cheeks heat up when Brock gives him a very obvious once over.

“I’ve seen some of your matches back in those less... _reputable_ companies. Let me know if you want to revisit some of them. I can work with chains.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say and Brock is still laughing softly to himself by the time Heyman joins them and they sit down. Somehow the business talk feels nothing like his normal ones, but then he isn’t used to being looked at like he’s a piece of meat. And he isn’t used to kind of enjoying it.

When they leave and Brock’s hand lingers on his ass a bit too long, he gets the message. Loud and clear. And if someone were to ask, he might have admitted he was thinking about it. Considering the way Brock watches him as he walks away, he knows what’s on both their minds. He likes the idea.


	11. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt : maybe dango kissing Tyler in the ring? Whatever happens after that is up to you?

It's been a while since Tyler has been in an NXT ring. He's watched the shows, of course, and he's been in the back once or twice to celebrate all the successes and laugh along with the jokes. Jumping up to stand and watch out at an NXT arena, though, is a familiar mesh of black and yellow. He can just imagine the crowd, all boisterous and supportive, where he now seems empty seats.

If he's completely honest, it also hurts a bit because his move up to the main roster hadn't quite gone according to plan. He'd been so proud, but that long, arduous fight to make it hadn't resulted in his main event dreams. Maybe just Main Event dreams instead.

Of course, some good things have come from his less than stellar ascension to the big leagues. Next to him Fandango's looking at the arena with interest. Tyler has no doubt he can't quite comprehend why Tyler feels the way he does about an empty arena like this – they've been in many – but he's clearly trying to get it. Right down to squinting his eyes. It makes Tyler want to smile.

His boyfriend is looking a tad ruffled, considering the visit to Full Sail had been a last minute decision. His hair's still wet and not styled, but at least he looks cosy in the thick sweatshirt he's wearing. The one Tyler had snuggled up in earlier, because it's warm and smells kind of nice. (No selfies had been taken, because it's rather dull in colour and doesn't match Tyler's eyes, but other than that he likes it.)

So, yes, at least he got Fandango out of his failures. 

“You're looking all wishful, Breezy,” Fandango murmurs, nudging him gently with his shoulder. Tyler's convinced he meant wistful. It makes him nod.

“A little. Also thankful, though.”

He remembers those times well. It's not that long ago, really, and he can watch old shows and reminisce whenever he wants. The memories are still vivid, from his very first match to his very last and all the madness in-between.

He remembers feeling lonely sometimes, too. NXT was a mess of egos trying to drown each other out and make it to the main roster. Tyler Breeze was definitely not going to be anyone's first choice and he clawed tooth and nail to not be taken for granted by them. Looking back, he's not sure how he made it without the comforting strength of someone like Fandango holding him up.

“Breezy,” Fandango's voice is still soft. 

“Huh?”

“You look sad.”

Tyler shrugs. He watches some crew members fiddle with the entrance ramp, not sure what to say. He is kind of sad, he realizes, but maybe not for the reason Fandango imagines he is. He misses NXT, but only for the future he had when he was there. The actual time had left him unsure. His friends had been great and he'd loved them, but they'd been fleeting and they hadn't truly been his. They'd be friends with the shell he'd thrown up around him. 

“Do you wish you could go back?”

Fandango looks very serious, asking him this. Tyler has trouble reading him when he gets like this, because it's so alien to the man he's come to adore so much. Fandango is a force of charisma and joy, so creases between his eyebrows make Tyler uncomfortable. Maybe because it means Fandango has dropped his masks just as much as Tyler sometimes does.

“No. I just miss the potential.”

“Well, I don't want you to go back to NXT.”

It's said with such finality that Tyler has to believe it. He smiles, catching the way Fandango crosses his arms and looks to the side. There's nothing there – the men have left the ramp by now – but it's like he sees what would happen. Something inevitable.

As if he'd ever want to. He was unsure about who he was back then. He was too focused on being better and prettier than everyone else. He'd never have dared to even look at someone like Fandango – probably wouldn't have acknowledged he wanted to – and he would have missed out. Wouldn't have been the focus of so much devotion that just the hypothetical move down to NXT makes the man scowl off into the distance.

“Dango,” he says. “Come here.”

He pulls at one of the man's arms, turning him. Fandango looks down at him, expression still shockingly morose. 

“Do you know one thing I would have liked to have done here? Felt comfortable enough to?”

An eyebrow is raised and Tyler glances around quickly. No one is looking and only a few people are still around. They're talking, though, and not paying attention to the ring. He could just...

He gets on his toes quickly, then plants a quick kiss on Fandango's lips. When he looks around, no one seems to have noticed and he smiles. This isn't something he would have done in NXT. He wouldn't have even entertained the thought. Interest in men had been something he pushed away, kept hidden so deep down that he barely even recognized it existed. It had taken a loudmouth dancer to drag it out of him.

“That-” he tries to say, but he's interrupted by a firm mouth on his. 

Fandango isn't as quick to let go. His arms circle Tyler's waist, holding him in place as a hand rests on the swell of his ass. Tyler's well aware it's there and he tilts his hips a bit, letting his boyfriend know. 

The kiss is smooth, comfortable, and Tyler groans in the back of his throat when the hand on his ass squeezes slightly. Fandango's lips, still firmly against his, curl upwards.

Tyler's quite happy to sink into it, really, except suddenly a sharp, appreciative whistle cuts through the air and Tyler has to jump away. He's sure it's someone he knows, just messing with him, but still the idea of having an audience spooks him. Especially here. It makes him feel weird and he knows his face is heating up.

“You're blushing,” Fandango says, smiling lazily.

“I am _not_ blushing. That's just the crappy lighting in here.”

Fandango actually kisses him on the forehead then, like Tyler's some sort of child and so he shoves him. His boyfriend just laughs at that, the asshole and it makes Tyler want to eviscerate the man with some choice words. Some non-pg words, though, so he glances around and decides against it. _Ugh._

“Oh, shut up. Just because I'm not comfortable showing off like some dancer with a humiliation fetish.”

“Hmm. True.” Fandango is leaning against the ropes, still smiling, the lines of his body relaxed. “I just like showing you off.”

Blushing is unseemly and decidedly not attractive, but Fandango's being all ridiculous again and Tyler doesn't know what to do with himself. So he shoots his boyfriend a flustered glare and hops out of the ring. He hears soft laughter from behind him as he stalks to the back, glaring at whomever so much as looks at him.

At least he has more fun memories to remember now, he supposes. And as he hears Fandango follow behind him, he also supposes he loves the man a little. Just a little, though, because he's also an ass.

When Fandango kisses him again later and they're in the safety of a comfortable hotel room, he forgets all about being angry.


	12. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Scarves and autumn leaves and pumpkin spice lattes!"

It's getting colder out. Autumn's visibly taking hold and turning everything into shades of red, shades of orange, the occasional vibrant yellow. Fandango is easily distracted and maybe not as keen on aesthetics as his partner, but he can recognize its appeal. He also recognizes the chill of naked legs resting against cold iron, but that's not quite as nice. Maybe he shouldn't have worn shorts, even if he hadn't expected to leave the car.

Behind him, elegant legs crossed, Tyler reclines on the hood of their rental car, model experience causing him to angle his body just right. He's not actively doing it, busy as he is with that pumpkin spiced latte he'd begged Fandango for, but the arch of his back and the bliss on his face are breathtaking. So Fandango resolutely doesn't look. _He doesn't_ , even if he quickly has to turn his head away. Maybe he's lying to himself, considering he has such trouble _not_ looking at his boyfriend these days.

“Dango!” Tyler yells from behind him.

He doesn't look back. “What?!”

“Look to the left for me?”

Fandango blinks, then does as ordered. He squints, trying to see what he's supposed to look at, but there's nothing. Just an overflowing trash can and some cars. It all looks fairly dreadful compared to the forest stretching out in front of them. Surely Tyler wasn't trying to tell him something? The dancer frowns, giving the area one more quick sweep – maybe it's the jeep, rotting away in a nearby parking lot? - before turning around.

“I don't know what I'm looking for.”

Tyler laughs around the rim of his coffee cup, looking all relaxed as he leans against the wind shield of their car. He's damned beautiful, is what he is, even while huddled up in a thick, fluffy coat.

“There's nothing there. I just needed you to turn, because your jawline makes the view that much nicer.”

He looks so pleased with himself that Fandango just chuckles. Chuckles and shakes his head, because the impish grin is cute and he's never dated someone he'd dare call cute. Not that he'd call Tyler that out loud, because he'd consider that an affront. He's not cute, the blond would say, he's beautiful. Maybe ethereal, if he's moisturised properly the night before. Not cute, because that speaks of tiny animals, or little girls with rosy cheeks. He's hard planes, strong arms, a sharp personality, and the occasional throaty chuckle. He is not _cute_.

Fandango wants to press kisses to the dimples that dent his cheek, though. Wants to nose through the curtain of hair and behind the man's ear until Tyler chortles and pushes him away. He looks cosy. Like Fandango could soak him in. The very opposite of how harsh and biting his stunning boyfriend can be. 

He pauses in front of him, leaning against the cold metal of the car. Tyler looks at him, still smiling. 

“Aren't you cold?”

“Maybe a little.”

He wouldn't say he watches enraptured – he barely knows what that words mean, if he's honest – but he does pay close attention when Tyler twists and removes the large, woollen scarf he'd tied around his neck artfully. It's not a material the man would usually deign to wear, but it had been a gift and Fandango knows he secretly loves how warm it is. 

The thing, sparkling in all its silvery majesty, is looped around his neck. When Tyler pulls, he obediently leans forward, allowing him to wrap it around him further. He hums in amusement when the blond darts in for a kiss and holds him in place with a firm grip. 

“You going to make some sort of comment about warming me up?” he asks when Tyler eventually pulls away.

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “I have much more originality than that. Besides, it's your own fault you're cold. After all, you're the one wearing shorts just because you want to show off your tats. And they call _me_ vain.”

The snippy tone of voice is kind of a turn on somehow. Fandango should probably feel weird about getting off on his boyfriend mocking him, but he honestly doesn't care. He knows he's ridiculous, but he also knows Tyler stays with him anyway. And someone like him doesn't have to. He has men and women clamouring for his attention, yet he crawls in bed – sheets too cheap to deserve him – with Fandango anyway. A dancer who laughs too loud and can afford to buy champagne every time he wins a match, because it so rarely happens. 

Tyler's hands grasping at his neck, asking for open mouthed kisses, are kind of a miracle.

“They call you a lot of things, babe,” he murmurs, some of the words just barely making it out. Tyler's tongue touches his lazily. Fandango almost knocks Tyler's coffee to the ground. It's probably going cold.

“Do they?” He sounds kind of pleased. “What's your favourite?”

Fandango smirks. “When they call you mine.”

He's surprised Tyler there, he notices. His eyebrows do that cute little jumpy thing Fandango loves and then his face morphs entirely into a look of utter amusement. He even laughs, loud and clear in the empty parking lot.

Tyler squeezes his neck. “I guess I'll allow it.”

Then he starts pulling, though Fandango really can't get much closer unless he crawls on top of the car. It's clear that's what his boyfriend wants, so eventually Fandango relents. After a few awkward seconds where he's convinced he's either going to crush Tyler – the thought is silly, since he can feel the firm muscles in the man's arms haul him closer – or tumble head first to the ground, he relaxes against the other man's chest. The fuzz he's wearing tickles at the back of his neck, but the arms that close around him are sure, so he relaxes. Tyler's fingers caress his skin absently.

“We're going to dent the hood,” he comments. He can feel Tyler shrug.

“We probably look ridiculous,” he tries again.

“You are a dancer who shakes his hips at people even though you have no rhythm. Since when do you care about ridiculous.”

This time it's Fandango who shrugs. “You have a point.”

“I generally do.”

It's quiet then and Fandango can hear the wind whistle through the trees. It's peaceful, just lying there and watching the things around them. The rustle of a bird taking flight. Acorns landing with soft thuds, occasionally careening off of stone or metal. He even spies a squirrel, looking at them curiously before darting off when Fandango sighs contently.

Slowly a hand starts carding through his hair. He's not sure Tyler even notices he's doing it. Pressed against his back, Fandango can feel Tyler's every calm, measured breath. 

“I think I might love you a little,” he admits, wanting to turn his head and muffle the words in Tyler's ridiculous coat. It could lessens some of his nerves. Tyler's hand doesn't flinch, or even stutter as it continues to run through his hair and down his face. He shivers, though he's no longer cold at all.

“You better.” Tyler's voice sounds a bit more shaky than his hand is and Fandango glances up. “Because I expect utter devotion from people I like having around.”

His boyfriend is smiling – it's tiny, but there – and Fandango wishes he were in a better position to chase it with his mouth. Later, when they're back in the car and Fandango's taken at least ten minutes to kiss the man breathless, he can still taste the autumn on his tongue.


	13. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Would love to read about FaBreeze starting the 4th of July foodfight, love the idea of them showing of their mischievous side.”

They'd been partners for just a few weeks, but Tyler could already recognize trouble when Fandango looked at him a certain way. Or, in this case, look at the food on the table in a certain way. It looked like he'd just been told he'd inherited a fortune and if Tyler were honest, the impish grin on his face was kind of appealing. 

He quickly looked away. Fandango being kind of attractive was old news by now and something Tyler tried very hard to ignore. Much like the garish outfit he was wearing, actually. Both were facts. Terrible, horrible, soul destroying facts that made Tyler feel all sorts of embarrassed. The clothes could be taken off, though. He had no doubt Fandango's abs wouldn't disappear for another couple of years at least.

Next to him, Fandango moved restlessly. They'd been herded into the room a while ago and while the food on the table looked splendid, they hadn't been allowed to touch. Not until the cameras had had a time to survey it all. So they all sat and stood and waited, something Fandango wasn't very good at. And he'd somehow lost his shirt.

“Why are you half-naked?!” he hissed at Fandango. Summer, sitting not far from them and looking the picture of calm, looked at him with a grin. He just glared at her when their eyes met.

“Why wouldn't I be?” came the reply.

Tyler spluttered. _Why wouldn't he be?_ They were having a fourth of July celebration, not some sort of party at the beach. That would have been preferable to this cramped, smelly mess of a place. Sometimes he hates his co-workers.

“Do you begrudge the audience my abs? Is that it?”

Tyler snorted, then stepped behind Fandango a bit because he didn't like the way some of the others were looking at him. He knew he looked ravishing, even in the vile outfit he'd been forced to wear, but he had no interest in any of them. Mainly because he spent most of his time with Fandango and his jawline had little competition on the roster, but that was beside the point.

When the cameras started rolling and they were finally allowed to indulge in the food, everyone seemed to heave a sigh of relief. It didn't take long, though, for things to go crazy. And he somehow wasn't surprised he was partly to blame.

“This party is dreadful,” he'd said.

“I would much rather have been relaxing somewhere with a drink,” he'd said.

“These people smell like overripe pumpkin,” he'd said.

So Fandango had replied, 'okay, let's get out of here' and reached towards the nearest bowl. After that all hell broke loose and by the time Fandango had pulled him out of the room, heaving body dripping with whipped cream of all things, Tyler was just left staring at his own, food covered body in terror. 

“What...I...” he stuttered.

Fandango shrugged. “You said you didn't like it. I gave us a reason to leave.”

“I am covered in at least three different condiments, Dango.” He was complaining, but at the same time he couldn't stop staring at the slow, gradual descent of a large tuft of whipped cream making it down Fandango's collarbone and towards his stomach. 

“I...” This time Fandango seemed unsure. “I could help you with that?”

Tyler looked up sharply at that. Did he just...? What did the man mean by that? They were in a mostly empty hallway – an intern hurrying past every so often barely counted – but that didn't mean he could just ask. He'd wanted to, ever since Fandango chose him over his actual partner. Had felt like he had to, especially when Fandango chose him and then remained loyal. Loyalty was something Tyler wasn't used to. His partners were flighty, some of them barely able to acknowledge him at all. (Though maybe he was conflating different types of partners here.)

He must have looked a right fool, because eventually Fandango just laughed and reached forward, brushing some sort of green substance – god, he hoped it was just guacamole – off his cheek.

“No need to freak out, Tyler. It doesn't have to mean anything.”

He should have corrected Fandango there – no one touched his face without permission and he very rarely gave anyone that! - but he was just stunned. Stunned by the casual grace in him. The way he leaned back, licking the guacamole off his finger and then tracing his own abs to gather something else to eat. It shouldn't have been so sexy, honestly. 

“I'm just not sure _what_ it means,” he eventually admitted. Fandango looked up, face suddenly much more serious.

“Whatever you want it to. Just know that me wanting to lick tomato sauce off your chest has absolutely nothing to do with the sauce.”

Tyler shivered. Now there was a nice visual. He slowly smiled back. This had taken a sudden, favourable turn. He really couldn't complain.

“Well,” he mused. “I've always been fond of whipped cream...”


	14. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "they're trying to "have some naughty fun", but fandango is creeped out by Tyler's dogs watching or turning to look at them with each move and sound."

It was getting downright disrespectful, Tyler thought. Four times now – he'd counted – his boyfriend had glanced away from Tyler's naked body and towards the other side of the room. As if he wasn't completely entranced by Tyler's beauty and the way his hair fanned out across the pillow. Fandango was supposed to cherish this chance and properly appreciate the fact he'd point blank told Xavier – who he hadn't spent time with in weeks! - to fuck off because Fandango had plans. Plans that apparently didn't include giving Tyler his undivided attention.

“Dango, for fuck's sake!” he snarled when the man stopped kissing his way down Tyler's torso to look over his shoulder again. “The front door is locked, why are you acting like Xavier's going to walk in at any moment!”

Had he been in a better mood, he might have found Fandango's expression adorable, but he didn't. He was turned on and feeling moody, because they'd be leaving home again tomorrow and he wanted to make the most of it. Which didn't include all this bullshit. Was he not distracting enough?

“It's not that.” Fandango sighed, sitting back on his heels. Tyler wanted to kick him. “It's just...”

“This better be good.”

“It's your dogs, Tyler.”

Tyler blinked, then looked past his boyfriend in the general direction he'd been looking at. Kanga seemed asleep, cute little paws dangling off the couch she wasn't supposed to be on. Tigger, meanwhile, turned his head as if he knew Tyler was looking. His ears perked, but his pose was relaxed. Nothing about them seemed off.

“What about them?”

“It's like they're judging me, Tyler.”

“You're crazy. I really don't think Tigger will in any way critique your performance, babe,” Tyler replied, “I, on the other hand, might fail you if you don't stop being more concerned with my dogs than me. I am _naked_ , Dango, and I was kind of hoping you'd get on with the fucking. Stop worrying about my damned dogs.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” Fandango brushed a hand down Tyler's stomach, a fond look in his eyes. It was nice and Tyler kind of wanted to kiss him. He liked it when Dango got all dreamy-eyed about him. After he slapped him for choosing to focus on Tyler's dogs over his flawless body, of course.

“I just can't with them staring at me.”

Tigger had sat up, probably when Tyler had mentioned his name, and was now lazily wagging his tail. Fandango was eyeing him as if he were the enemy, come to claim his land and all its attractive men. Tyler sighed. His boyfriend was an idiot.

“I figured you'd be the type to enjoy that kind of attention during sex. Show off those hips. It's not like they understand what's going on. They just think we're having fun.” Tyler scowled. “The kind of fun I'd like to be having right now, actually, instead of talking about my dogs.”

He pushed at the man's chest and Fandango scooted backwards, allowing Tyler to get up. He stalked towards his dogs, smirking as he just noticed Fandango zero in on his ass as he walked, and squinted at the both of them. Kanga had woken up, bright eyes looking up at him much like Fandango had looked at him earlier. 

“Sorry, sweetie,” he mumbled as he grabbed her collar. “My boyfriend is an idiot, but he's a nice looking one and I kind of want to keep him around.”

When both had been relocated to the hallway, whining softly from behind the closed door, he turned around and put his hands on his hips. Fandango was looking at him a certain way again, but this time it was far from adoration. Tyler smirked.

“Now, you better make up for me breaking my dogs' hearts just now.”

Fandango smiled. “Oh, babe, you have no idea.”


	15. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "how about Fandango staying the weekend at Tyler's house and meeting his dogs Kanga and Tigger?"

“Stop acting like I'm feeding you to sharks,” Tyler grumbled. 

Fandango was right behind him, body tense and pressing into him like he was actually scared. It was absolutely ridiculous. They'd driven all this way just to be able to spend time at Tyler's apartment and not in some awful, ruin of a hotel room where just looking at the carpet made Tyler's skin break out in hives. He'd be able to relax in his own bed, ruffle his pristine sheets as he showed Fandango how nice expensive bedding was, and afterwards leisurely choose a comfortable setting on his state of the art shower. He could even get a face mask and work on some of those wrinkles without being mocked by some random co-worker.

Fandango, meanwhile, acted like this had been the worse decision they'd ever made. It made Tyler frown, because he'd thought his boyfriend would like being shown around his place. For Tyler it was a safe haven he rarely shared with others. A personal, private thing. Him wanting to share that, the one place he felt like he could be himself the most, meant something and Fandango was just busy looking terrified. Because of dogs. Tyler's dogs, to be exact. He looked miserable, where he should have looked proud.

“They're going to hate me,” Fandango said as Tyler unlocked the door. 

“So what if they do.”

“They're going to hate me and you love them.” The man sounded defeated.

Tyler rolled his eyes and swung the door open. The first thing he noticed was the neat stack of letters his cleaner had piled up for him. The second thing he noticed was the blur of motion that knocked that stack of letters to the ground. He dropped his bags immediately and scooped up Kanga as she jumped at him.

“Kanga! Tigger!”

It took him a while to settle both his dogs as they whined and barked and clawed at his legs, trying to get even closer and lick him all over. Of course he was smart enough not to allow that. Dog drool, ew.

Fandango just lingered awkwardly behind him the entire time, looking apprehensive and far from the suave, confident man Tyler was used to. It was almost adorable.

“Come here,” he said, motioning him forward and simply pulling when the man didn't listen. Tigger idled up slowly, sniffing at Fandango's legs. He snorted once, then walked off. Kanga was too busy rubbing herself against Tyler to care.

“See, they hate me.”

Tyler sighed. “Oh, Dango, they simply don't care right now. They'll love you soon enough, don't worry.”

“But-”

Tyler pulled the man's face towards his, grinning before dashing in for a kiss. Fandango's expression improved slightly, so he did it again. And again. Eventually his boyfriend just rolled his eyes and smiled down at Tyler.

“What are you doing?”

The blond shrugged. “Showing you that me liking you matters a whole lot more than what my dogs think.”

“I just...” Fandango rested his head on Tyler's shoulder. Some of that gloominess was back again and Tyler had to resist the urge to pinch him. “You matter to me and I know they matter to you. I want to make a good impression on them.”

He sounded genuine and Tyler swallowed. Sometimes Dango got all emotional and he wasn't sure what to do with it. It made his mouth go dry, the casual way in which the dancer spoke about things that scared and confused Tyler so much. Fandango mattered to him, of course he did, but he very rarely knew how to find the words to express that.

“Well, my bed matters a great deal to me, so how about you impress _it_ instead? My dogs will warm up to you. Just feed them a few treats while I'm not looking.”

Fandango smiled. It made Tyler want to smile right back.

“Are you saying your dogs are easy?”

“Oh yes. Just like their owner.” Tyler winked. “For you, that is. Now come on, I need to show you the master bedroom.”

A few hours later, after Tyler had enjoyed a divine shower and had wrapped himself in his most comfortable bathrobe, he made his way back into the living room. On the coach, Kanga had rolled up in Fandango's lap. Tigger had situated himself on the man's feet. Tyler hadn't seen Fandango look so proud in months and he just laughed to himself.

He'd known his dogs had good taste.


	16. Tyler Breeze/Fandango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> breezango prompt: "drunk karaoke"

He was supposed to have a night off. After some time overseas and the weariness that went along with that – Europe had a certain flair North America didn’t have, but it was also different enough to make him uncomfortable – he’d begged off on joining some of his friends to their favourite bar. Fandango had looked disappointed, but eventually understanding and Tyler had given the man a pat on the back and watched him drive off. Nattie would keep an eye on him, he knew.

 

It had been a couple of hours of peace and quiet he’d very much enjoyed. He’d messed about on his phone a bit, taken some nice beauty shots, relaxed in the warm embrace of a very nice bath, and overall he’d been enjoying himself. He’d even considered applying one of those luscious facials to fix some of his clogged pores. So, when his phone rang insistently and he saw it was Nattie on the other side, he maybe frowned a bit.

 

“Yes?” he asked.

 

He’d been closing his eyes and dozing off and on, so he didn’t really want to deal with this, but even through the phone he could hear the off-key singing of his friend. Boyfriend. Partner. He wasn’t sure, really, as Fandango had only kissed him once and he’d seemed kind of freaked out after that. Like it had been a mistake.

 

It hadn’t been the highlight of Tyler’s existence, that’s for sure, but Fandango had still acted affectionate afterwards. Like nothing had changed.

 

“You need to come pick him up.” Nattie sounded kind of frantic.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because he’s drunk and he’s been singing love songs for over an hour now. He’s picking out every song that’s got the word blond in it and people think he’s singing it to me, but we both know better. I’m getting blamed for how annoying he’s being. _Please_ come pick him up.”

 

 

Half an hour later, after Tyler had gotten dressed, fixed his hair, and complained to Nattie for a reasonable amount, he found himself bombarded with music and a rush of people. As he entered the bar, he could already hear Fandango screeching – decidedly off key – into the microphone. He sighed.

 

He pushed through the crowd, surprisingly still there, and ignored one or two heads turning his way. As if he’d give them the time of day. Ridiculous.

 

“Oh thank god,” Natalya breathed when she saw him. Meanwhile Fandango was shaking his ass to some unknown beat. It was kind of distracting.

 

“He won’t-” she started talking, but was soon interrupted.

 

“Tyler!” Fandango was smiling. Then he turned away from the words on the screen, but he definitely didn’t stop singing. Instead his eyes never left Tyler’s and he could feel strangers looking at him. Probably blaming him.

 

_“I hope life treats you kind! And I hope you have all you’ve dreamed of and I wish you joy and happiness. But above-”_

_“Enough,”_ he snapped, jumping on the stage and grabbing the man’s hand. Fandango just kept smiling, strangely meek as he followed Tyler off the stage and to the side. Someone pried the microphone from his hands.

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Fandango gushed. “I’ve been thinking about you all evening!”

It was ridiculous, but it made Tyler feel good nonetheless. Maybe that kiss hadn’t been a mistake.

 

“I really, really like you?” Fandango continued, slurring every word, sounding earnest even through all the booze. Tyler wanted to die. “And I kind of want to kiss you all the time? Even when you’re angry at me?”

“Dango,” Tyler tried to soothe. The other man was frowning again. “It’s okay. Let’s go home.”

 

“No, no.” Fandango swayed on his feet. Tyler grabbed him even firmer and pulled him away from a table he’d been about to walk into. “I want it to be okay too. I want it to be- I…I don’t…”

 

 _“Sssh,”_ he tried again. Fandango wasn’t having it.

 

“ _No_. I want to kiss you, but I thought I was into women, you know?” He was awkwardly gulping in air now. Tyler wasn’t sure how he felt about the other man nearly panicking over the thought of kissing him again.

 

“I want it to be okay,” Fandango said. “I want- I just don’t know if you want to be with a guy who thought he was straight. If you should. I don’t know anything. I’m a mess.”

 

“You’re fine. You’re just drunk right now.”

 

“I’m kind of in love with you.” Fandango frowned. “And I’m not…I don’t…”

 

Tyler tried ignoring that particular admission. It wasn’t getting them anywhere and who knew if it was really how his friend felt, or if it just involved a lot of liquor and an overly affectionate personality.

 

“You don’t have to sound so angry about that, you know.”

 

“I’m not!”

 

Fandango protested some more, even when Tyler dragged him outside and towards his car. It took some convincing, but Fandango eventually crawled inside. Minutes later, he was snoring away. Tyler couldn’t help but glance his way every so often. He really wasn’t sure how he felt. Or how he _should_ feel. He’d dated a ‘straight guy’ before, only once, and it had ended up in heart break. Was he willing to go through all that again?

But then, Fandango was a drunk, drooling, incomprehensible mess and he still wanted to hold his hand. Sitting on the couch kissing didn’t seem like such a bad idea somehow, even though Tyler knew the man probably tasted like cheap tequila. He hated cheap tequila.

 

At the same time, he kind of loved Dango.

 

Luckily he had a lot of time to think about it on the way home.

 

 

Tyler didn’t sleep in the same bed as other people a lot, so waking up to an arm draped over his chest and someone snoring into his neck was a rather foreign sensation. Not wholly unpleasant, just not something he expected.

 

As he glanced over, Fandango looked calm. Relaxed. Downright peaceful. Much more so than he’d been the night before, even after they’d gotten back to Tyler’s room. His explanations had been all over the place and at some point they stopped making sense. Still, Tyler thought he knew what the other man had been trying to say. It made him relax into the other man’s hold a little.

 

Ten minutes later, when Fandango woke up, Tyler couldn’t help but smirk at the look on his face. Alcohol had a habit of catching up on people and Fandango’s expression said enough. This was why Tyler only drank alcohol to make a statement, not to get lost in it.

 

“Good morning?”

 

“Shut up,” Fandango grumbled. He burrowed into Tyler’s side even more and sighed. “Are you going to be angry with me? I don’t remember everything, but I remember enough.”

 

“No.”

 

“You probably should. I can’t even have an alcohol filled gay panic without messing up your evening.”

 

“It’s okay.” Tyler nudged Fandango and he sat up, still looking bleary-eyed. “It’s certainly the most unique love declaration I’ve ever gotten.”

 

Tyler chuckled softly as Fandango turned his head away, then reached over to touch the cheekbones that were turning an interesting shade of red. So there were things Fandango could feel embarrassed about. That was interesting.

 

“I want to kiss you all the time too, by the way.”

 

He stopped Fandango when he leaned in, expression suddenly eager.

 

“ _After_ you’ve brushed your teeth, though.”

 

“Aw.” Fandango didn’t look mad, just fond. It made Tyler’s heart skip a beat. The man sounded a bit insecure when he continued, though.

 

“So we’re good?”

 

“As long as you never serenade me with ‘I Will Always Love You’ ever again, we’re good. You’re no Whitney Houston, babe.”

 

Fandango smiled. It was a tentative thing, but clear enough.

 

“ _Deal_.”


End file.
